𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡✦𝐑𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐥 𝐱 𝐋𝐮 𝐒𝐢 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐧𝐠

Chapter 26: Nightmares, Run.

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“You can't withstand the storm”
“But today, I'm the storm.”
I whispered back at the devil.

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   E     S    C    A    P    E         P     L    A     N

My body screamed at me to stop, every nerve ending a live wire, sizzling under the weight of my exhaustion. The stone floor beneath me pressed into my back like jagged teeth, biting through the clothes, into my skin. Cold. Unforgiving. A constant reminder that time was running out. But the pain was just a distraction. One I didn't have the luxury of giving into right now. I listened. Listened past the throb in my head, past the quiet rasp of my shallow breathing. The distant murmur of voices—my captors—faded in and out, too far to make out their words, but the tone was unmistakable.
They were complacent.
They thought they had me, thought they'd broken me.
Idiots.
I opened my eyes, blinking against the dim light filtering through the cracks in the ceiling. My muscles protested as I slowly flexed my fingers, the stiff ropes biting into my wrists. My body, as strong and trained as it was, had limits. But my mind? They had no idea what I could do when I let my brain do the heavy lifting. That was their first mistake—assuming she'd be like anyone else they'd captured.
I wasn't.
My eyes scanned the room. I had already memorized every inch of it from the moment they'd thrown me in here. The walls were cinderblock, damp and rough, with no windows. There was a door, but it was reinforced, a lock I couldn't pick without my tools. I had noticed the vent in the corner earlier—small but manageable. It was my only way out.
But first, the ropes.
I had felt them, tested them when they'd tied me down. The knots weren't professional. They were crude, hasty, and a bit too loose. All bark, no bite. Maybe they figured the beatings would make my compliance easier, that my body giving out meant my mind would, too.
Amateurs.
I twisted my wrists slightly, feeling the rope shift just a fraction. It was enough. I moved slowly, methodically, letting my skin rub raw against the fibers until the ropes gave way, loosening little by little. The ache was nothing. Pain was a sensation I had long made peace with. It kept me alive.
My arms hung limply at my sides, wrists bound together with coarse rope that cut into my skin. The coppery taste of blood still lingered on my lips from the last hit they landed on me.
"Get up," I whispered to myself, my voice a rasp barely audible in the stillness. "Get up, Rachel."
I didn't listen.
The weight pressing down on my chest made it impossible to breathe properly, and my vision swam as if I was drowning in the very air I needed to survive. But my mind, despite the fog of pain, was sharp. I had already assessed my surroundings the moment they threw me in this hellhole, long before my body had begun to shut down. These men thought they could break me, that they had finally cornered Rachel Wang. They thought a few ropes, a couple of bruises, and a locked door would be enough to keep me down.
Fools.
The corner of my mouth twitched in the faintest hint of a smirk, even as my body betrayed me, heavy and useless against the cold concrete. Because what they didn't know—what no one ever realized until it was too late—was that Rachel's body wasn't my greatest weapon.
Her mind was.
A shadow moved near the far wall, just outside the glow of the weak light bulb swinging lazily from the ceiling. The bastards guarding me. I heard their boots scrape against the floor, their low voices blending into the white noise that had become my reality. They weren't paying attention, probably figured I was done for.
It wasn't the first time someone had underestimated me.
It wouldn't be the last.
A deep breath. Inhale. Exhale. The rush of oxygen hit my lungs, momentarily clearing the fog, even if it sent a sharp stab of pain through my ribs. I didn't know if they were broken, bruised, or just really fucking pissed off, but it didn't matter. What mattered was that I was still breathing.
I curved my fingers, wrists screaming in protest as I tested the ropes again. Too tight to slip out of, but there was give—enough to work with if I had time. My brain fired off a checklist, assessing every possible tool at my disposal.
Body, battered. Limits pushed. But not shattered.
Mind? Still sharp.
Tools? None, unless you count the frayed edge of determination I had always clung to. But the room was my real weapon, every detail committed to memory. The vent above me, the flimsy bolts holding it together. If I could just—
The door creaked open, and the guard shifted, his heavy boots clomping across the floor like he was auditioning for some low-budget horror flick. He didn't even glance in my direction. Idiot. I closed my eyes, feigning unconsciousness, and waited for the click of the door as it shut behind him.
Time was slipping, draining away like the blood seeping from my wounds. But I had to move. Now.
I staggered to my feet, legs trembling like they'd forgotten how to hold my weight. I stumbled toward the vent, catching myself on the rough wall to steady my balance. The floor swayed beneath my feet, or maybe that was just my body finally betraying me. I couldn't afford to think about it.
I rolled onto my side, gritting my teeth against the white-hot lance of pain that shot through my ribs. Every part of my body screamed in protest, but I forced myself to keep going, pushing past the agony until I was facing the wall. The vent. It was about six feet off the ground, but my captors, arrogant as they were, hadn't bothered to secure my legs.
Idiots.
I twisted my wrists, the rope cutting deeper into my skin, but I felt the knot loosen ever so slightly. It wasn't much, but it was enough. I worked the bindings, ignoring the blood now trickling down my hands. A few more seconds, a few more painful tugs, and my wrists were free. Fuck, yes.
My arms fell to my sides, and the sudden release almost made me dizzy with relief. But there was no time for that. I pulled myself up to my knees, biting down on a scream as my muscles cramped, my body threatening to give out on me.
"Come on, come on," I muttered under my breath, forcing myself up onto my feet. The room spun, tilting dangerously as if the ground might swallow me whole, but I gripped the edge of the wall to steady myself.
The vent was just above me. So close, yet it felt a million miles away. In the corner, a rusty toolbox lay half-open, forgotten. They hadn't even bothered to search the room for potential weapons—another mistake. A small grin tugged at the corner of my cracked lips as I kneeled beside it, pulling out the only thing I needed: a screwdriver.
My hands shook as I pried open the vent, the screws old and rusted from years of neglect, but the tool did its job. I worked with a quiet determination, every breath labored, the darkness creeping at the edges of my vision. My heartbeat was the only sound in my ears, louder than the distant voices beyond the walls.
Click.
The last screw fell away, and the vent cover came free. I exhaled; the rush of victory was muted by the exhaustion threatening to consume me. I wasn't out yet. Crawling through the vent would take everything I had left, and there was no guarantee they wouldn't catch me halfway through.
But what was the alternative? Wait here until my captors return to finish the job? Not a chance. Rachel Wang didn't wait for anyone to save her. I had always been my own rescue.
The sound echoed like gunfire in the small room, but no one came.
Maybe they thought I was too far gone. Or maybe they just didn't care.
They'd regret it.
The vent opening was small, barely large enough for me to squeeze through, but I was used to tight spaces. I hauled myself up, my arms shaking violently as I pulled myself inside the narrow shaft. Every inch of my body screamed at me to stop, to rest, to just give up and lie down.
But that wasn't who I was. I was never taught to give up. Never.
The cold metal biting into my palms and knees, my body scraping against the narrow space as I crawled, still I kept going, my mind set on one thing: survival.
Suddenly, I heard footsteps above me, the unmistakable thud of boots hitting concrete. They were looking for me. I stilled, holding my breath, listening for any sign that they'd discovered my escape. Fear rushed through me like a rollercoaster, as if I'd breathe and they'd find me again, locking me down in this hellhole I planned to escape for so long. 2 days to be exact.
The seconds ticked by like hours, but eventually, the footsteps moved away. I exhaled quietly, continuing my crawl through the vent system. Every movement sent waves of agony through my limbs, my battered body screaming in protest, but I silenced it with sheer willpower. Pain was just information, a message from my body that I didn't have time to listen to.
The air in the vent was stifling, thick with dust that coated my throat and made it hard to breathe. But I pressed on, my mind calculating every twist and turn. I couldn't stop. Not now. Because stopping meant death. And, not when freedom was so close that I could taste it.
I had no sense of time as I crawled through the suffocating tunnel, my muscles seizing up, my fingers numb from gripping the cold metal. The sound of my captors' voices grew fainter, the hum of the building's ventilation system taking over, a dull, rhythmic noise that almost lulled me into a false sense of calm. Almost.
My body shuddered with fatigue, my vision blurring as the darkness at the edges of my sight grew thicker. I was running on fumes now, but the thought of stopping wasn't even an option. I wouldn't die in this place.
The tunnel twisted and turned, and I followed it blindly, my hands trembling as they dragged me forward inch by inch. I had no idea where it led, no clue if this would actually get me out. But there were no other options.
My body was giving out, but my mind—my mind was still sharp.
I reached the end of the tunnel, the faint sound of the outside world reaching my ears. The cool breeze whispered through the slats of another vent cover, brushing against my face. I could almost taste freedom.
I slammed my hand against the vent, the cover giving way with a groan of metal. I kicked it open, the last bit of my strength draining as I crawled out, collapsing onto the ground below. The air outside hit me like a drug, sharp and cold, a stark contrast to the suffocating staleness of the vent.
I lay there for a moment, my body splayed out on the ground, every nerve ending alight with pain. I could hear the distant sounds of the city—cars, people, life—so close yet still so far from where I was. I wasn't safe yet.
But I couldn't stop. Not here. Not yet.
I forced myself to my feet, my legs shaking beneath me, barely able to hold my weight. The world spun dangerously, and I stumbled forward, my vision going dark at the edges. My body was a wreck, muscles torn, bones probably cracked. But I was out.
And that was the first step.
I staggered through the alley, my hand trailing along the rough brick wall to keep myself steady. My breath came in shallow gasps, each one feeling like a battle. But I kept moving. My mind racing, trying to figure out my next move.
They'd come looking for me soon. I did not doubt that. And when they did, they'd realize I wasn't some broken doll waiting to be thrown away.
I was the one they should've been afraid of.
My head spun, and I knew I didn't have much time before my body gave out completely. But I couldn't stop.
Not until I was safe.
Not until I was free.